


Lying for Love

by kibasniper



Category: Umineko no Naku Koro ni | When the Seagulls Cry
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Deception, F/F, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, Heartache, Lies, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 18:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15006440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibasniper/pseuds/kibasniper
Summary: In 1998, Mammon lies to Ange and steels her own heart. In 1986, she is more than ready to say she loves her.Yet, in both worlds, she is nothing but furniture.





	Lying for Love

“Mammon, did Beatrice kill my family?”

The question slashed through the calm air of lunchtime. Mammon's lips clamped shut, and she peered down at Ange, finding her master peering right through her. She watched Ange munch on a piece of bread, tearing off small pieces with crumbs trickling down her chin. Ange wiped her mouth with a handkerchief and set the cloth on her thigh.

Mammon wished Ange kept her eyes on her lunch. Ange's pleading look bore through Mammon, her eyes seemingly ready to water as they shone under the hot sun. Mammon kept her hands behind her back, tightly gripping her left wrist. She maintained an expression of neutrality, contrasting with the crease in Ange's brow and her tightly strewn lips.

“I know you were furniture under Beatrice. In that case, were you there?” Ange asked, setting aside her bento box on the grass. She drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her shins. 

Mammon noticed the faint bruises lining Ange's upper shins and thighs. The purple and blue splotches varied in hue, and her socks covered hints of other injuries. She wondered which bullies had caused the injuries before she had been summoned. Mulling over the bruises, her mind swarmed with incoming fog as Ange continued.

“Because Beatrice has made her presence known despite having no physical form through her letter in a bottle,” Ange recalled, closing her eyes. “Even though I know Maria-onee-chan will be upset at me for doubting a fellow witch, Beatrice has been lauded as a potential culprit by those damn scalpers and forgers.”

“Beatrice-sama is a great witch,” Mammon asserted, puffing her chest out and scowling. “Those mongrels don't know what they're talking about especially when they're mouthing off about whatever they want. They're filling Ange-sama's head with needless pain. You shouldn't listen to them!”

Her shout echoed in their private world. The wind carried Mammon's voice to nobody's ear. She lowered herself to Ange's level, gripping Ange's hands and felt her master's fingers tremble. Mammon stroked her palms with her thumbs.

“Ange-sama, I thought you believed Eva Ushiromiya was the culprit,” Mammon drawled, and she watched the color drain from Ange's face, washed clean with pallid horror.

“O-o-of course, of c-course, I do,” Ange sputtered, nodding so quickly that Mammon thought her neck would snap.

Mammon beamed, giggling. She clapped Ange's shoulders and then cupped her cheeks. Scrubbing away remaining crumbs from her chin, Mammon said, “If that's so, don't let anyone taint the truth of your heart. If you let people interject their own beliefs and assertions, then your own truth will be completely destroyed.”

Ange's eyes narrowed. She brushed off Mammon's hands and stood up. She crossed her arms, resting her foot against the school building. With serpentine precision, she searched Mammon's expression for deceit and sighed when she found nothing.

Mammon tilted her head, giggling. Imitating Ange's pose, she said, “Ange-sama, I can't denounce my former master. After all, like you said, I was furniture of Beatrice-sama and now, I belong to you. I won't be made to defame either of you. You'll get me in trouble with Maria-sama if you do.”

Mammon waited as Ange mulled over her proclamation. She chewed the inside of her cheek, hoping to appear like an innocent fairy with her straightened back, bright smile, and twinkling eyes. She leaned closer to Ange, enjoying her stoicism swap for confusion. Invading a person's personal space was a pleasure she learned from Beatrice, and she wreathed her arms around Ange's neck. Dragging her master forward, Mammon set her head to Ange's ear. Her cool breath tickled Ange's earlobe.

“Ange-sama, I recommend putting your thoughts to your upcoming test. You didn't do a wink of studying last night even though I encouraged you to do so,” Mammon crooned, patting Ange's cheek. “Of course, I appreciate your magical studies, too, in trying to bring my sisters out. At the same time, I'm still greedy and wanna monopolize you all for myself!”

Ange's stuttering reply was silenced by an alarm booming throughout the courtyard. She shook her head, realizing it was the end of lunch. Hurrying to collect her discarded food, she stuffed the rest of her bread into her mouth. She ignored Mammon's comment that she looked like a chipmunk.

Mammon smiled, following Ange back into the academy. With Ange's back to her and her mind focusing on her upcoming exam, Ange requested for some peaceful time to herself. Mammon obliged, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

Mammon returned to Ange's magical space. She gazed at the vast, gray abyss and scowled. She gnawed on her lower lip and then turned her attention to chewing on her fingernails. The creeping thankfulness that her sisters were not present to see her turmoil eased her heart, but she was left deterred.

Lying was easy. They were words slipping off her tongue meant to turn the tide in her favor. The benefits of lying created a situation where she had the advantage over her opponent, but Mammon's lie to Ange left her stomach squirming. It was as if her stomach acid was melting away her inner organs, leaving her writhing and sickened beyond all belief. She gripped her belly, closing her eyes and hitching down a breath.

She was the stake of greed, the personification of wanting it all. Knowing the absolute truth was part of that desire, and she deeply understood Ange's craving for the truth. With Beatrice's magic shrouding the massacre's truth, Mammon sympathized with Ange's plight.

They were both her masters, but she was endeared to Ange. Her earnest nature in wanting to understand magic while also enduring endless suffering from all aspects of her life made Ange a much more loving master. Ange's classmates torturing her, her aunt abusing her for the slightest blunders, and the merciless media and theorists tearing the guts out of the massacre's mystery weighed heavily on Ange's shoulder. Mammon thought it was a miracle that she had not crashed under the stony ton of hopelessness.

Still, Ange chose to study magic. She was a kindhearted young woman who delved into the magical realm as an apprentice. Even though she gave up magic, she was willing to learn it all again for the sake of resurrecting her family, and Mammon, through her experiences with Ange, slowly fell in love.

A golden butterfly fluttered past Mammon's shoulder. She straightened, watching the butterfly burst into sparkling dust and reshape into Maria. Saluting, she smiled at her other master.

“Mammon, thank you! Even though lying is wrong, you protected Mariage Sorciere's honor,” Maria said, approaching her. She took Mammon's hands, giggling as though knowing a shrewd secret.

Mammon broke into a wide sneer, quickly pulling away from Maria and holding on her hips. She laughed, tossing her head back and shouting, “Of course, Maria-sama! It's the least I can do! Even though I'm greedy, I know what matters most!”

Her words placated Maria, who beamed and waved her staff. Immediately, their surroundings were transformed into the Golden Land like a pop-up storybook opening. The floral scent, once calming, assaulted Mammon's nose, and she bit her lower lip. Hearing Maria ask for her to play tag, Mammon nodded and flew after Maria, masking her wariness with abrupt laughter.

Her entire being was for Mariage Sorciere. If it was not for the alliance, she would never have been born. Her duty was to Beatrice and Maria, and if they chose to hide the truth from Ange, she followed their commands. Even if she listened to Ange wailing into her pillow after a long day of abuse from her classmates, whimpering for her mother, Mammon was made to embrace her and whisper gentle, comforting words. Platitudes and promises for happiness spilled from her mouth and covered her initial lie until she felt bile stain her tongue.

The lie tasted bitter in her mouth even after the tragedy. Even though she had grown so close to Ange, she was broken like the rest of her sisters. Reduced to stony rubble with tears on her face had been her fate, but she accepted and loved Ange all the same. 

After all, she was furniture. Being destroyed was her magnanimous duty for having displeased her master.

She went back to being Beatrice's furniture, proud to serve the noble Golden Witch once more. 1998 had been merciless, but in 1986, she had a chance to carry out her duties. Even if it meant slaughtering Ange's relatives, her loyalty to Beatrice and protecting her gameboard overcame the swelling of her heart when she recalled Ange's vow to resurrect them all each time she gouged her victims.

Though, her mask had to fall one day as an uninvited guest stormed through the Golden Land. Ange arrived with the power of the Witch of Miracles, and Mammon's heart was torn asunder. She broke through the Beatrice's victory and smashed through the Golden Land to retrieve her family, punching Mammon in the face like she was a true stranger. The sensation of destruction had rushed through her body once again, and it took all of Mammon's willpower to not scream.

Now, with her heart slowly mending itself as Beatrice proclaims that she will begin weaving the fourth game, Mammon remains to herself. Although she stands with her sisters, she is alone. She is trapped between her masters of 1986 and 1998, feeling as if they have snatched her wrists and began dragging her back and forth. Her swollen arms could have been ripped off, but that pain is nothing compared to Ange glaring at her upon her initial arrival.

“Mammon?”

Mammon brings her head up when Beatrice says her name. She blinks, jerking her head from side to side as she stares at the vacant spots. Her cheeks flush, and she covers her mouth, blurting out an apology when she realizes Beatrice had sent the Seven Sisters of Purgatory away.

Beatrice chuckles, resting her knuckles against her cheek. “It's fine, it's fine. Your head must have been in the clouds, hmm?”

Mammon snickers, scratching behind her left ear. “You're right, Beatrice-sama, but I was listening. I know who to go after when my time comes. You can count of me as always.”

Beatrice hums, reclining in her seat as Mammon's scratchy voice hits her ears. She cracks her neck, the popping sound making Mammon stand on edge.

“I will take my leave, Bea-”

“You're unfocused, and I can't have that in my game. Any mistake because of my furniture could end in my defeat and destruction,” Beatrice hisses, standing, and Mammon wants to die. She approaches Mammon, carefully lifting her chin as if peering at a porcelain doll. Her lips faintly purse. “I know Ange was your master in 1998, but she's your enemy here. After all, she's no longer a member of the alliance and instead, she threw her life away to become a piece of a witch. Maria did say you were her dearest friend, but in the end, you were discarded, smashed, and utterly loathed by that stupid girl. You gave too much of yourself to her, Mammon.”

Mammon dips her head, fearing the cool touch of Beatrice's hand on her cheek. She nods, eyes closing and words dying in her throat. Beatrice's insults to Ange's character is a knife to her own gut, and each word is Beatrice twisting the knife and carving her organs.

Beatrice lifts her hand, stroking Mammon's head. The pitiful look that Mammon hates burns in Beatrice's eyes, and Mammon steels herself as Beatrice smirks. She curls her fingers through Mammon's straight locks and pulls, tearing hairs straight from her roots.

“But such is the life of furniture! Pitiful furniture that cannot be anything more!” Beatrice shrieks, shrill laughter erupting from the back of her throat. She clutches Mammon's throat, heaving her into the air and dragging the trembling girl close to her face. “You devoted yourself to Ange, but look at what was in store for you! You overstepped your boundaries and danced with the prospect of love, right? I can see it lapping away in your eyes like whirlpools!”

Beatrice's uncanny laughter overpowers her eardrums, and Mammon presses her palms against them. She screws her eyes shut, stifling down her pain and despair, and she knows her place. Furniture cannot argue back against their master nor can they fall in love with humans. It is an utmost law.

Though, when Mammon thinks about it, she wonders who came up with such merciless litigation. Keeping her hand over her heart, Mammon shouts, “Why can furniture not love humans? I-I have every right to love Ange-sama! Beatrice-sama, you're the one without love because you can't see what I feel for Ange-sama!”

Her outburst stuns Beatrice into rare silence, and Beatrice drops Mammon. Bright blue eyes widen, transfixing on her subordinate. Beatrice's placid mask spreads across her face until it cocoons even the blood vessels in her eyes. Mammon's mouth drops, and her fingers dig against her chest, feeling as though she would be able to wrench out her heart and smash it to a pulp for roaring back at her master.

“Why?” Beatrice whispers, her brow creasing, and her eyes tightening. “Why, you ask?”

“B-Beatrice-sama, I-I meant no disrespect! P-please, pu-punish me for m-m-m-my foolishness!” Mammon cries, her mind flashing back to how she mocked Lucifer for failing to defeat Kanon. She can only imagine the torment her sisters will force her to endure for fighting back against Beatrice.

“Such a stupid inquiry! An utterly loathsome thing such as yourself has no right to love!” Beatrice roars, snatching Mammon's jaw and slamming her into the ground. Mammon's tears look delicious as they slip down her face, and Beatrice licks her lips, a mad smirk fitting only her splitting onto her face. She squeezes so tightly that her fingernails draw blood from Mammon's thin cheeks, forming a few lines like her face. “Furniture are things meant to serve until they die! They should have no greater pleasure than that, and yet, you demand to know something such as love? You're grotesque beyond words! I should kill you again and again and again until you remember your place!”

Mammon's muffled cries for clemency bite against Beatrice's palm. Hot tears and blood mingle on Beatrice's knuckles, and if they were delicacies, they would be the finest wine for the witch. Mammon squeezes her eyes shut, cursing herself for daring to speak out against her master.

A staff appears before Mammon's eyes. She blinks, but the staff remains. The claw around her jaw releases, and Mammon sucks down a breath, thankful for the air caressing her throat. She looks up, finding the hem of an ebony dress and the somber express of Maria peering down at them.

“Beato, that's enough. Mammon has done a lot for Mariage Sorciere. She even lied to Ange when her own heart was hurting,” Maria says, withdrawing her staff. She narrows her glare. “Maria won't forgive you if you hurt Mammon again.”

Beatrice stands, her glare never leaving Mammon's trembling body. Mammon realizes Beatrice never released her pipe, watching as Beatrice takes a long, slow drag. Beatrice blows out the smoke and watches it spiral above her head. Mammon remains on the ground, waiting for an unexpected attack, but Maria offers her hand. At Beatrice's nod, Mammon accepts Maria's hand.

Mammon kneels, bowing her head and saying, “Forgive me, Beatrice-sama, Maria-sama. I forgot my place.”

“Uu! Mammon didn't do anything wrong,” Maria interjects, holding Mammon's shivering hand.

“You're forgiven, furniture,” Beatrice replies, turning away. She takes a few steps and appears ready to sit down on her throne. Looking over her shoulder, Beatrice smirks. “Never let it happen again or I'll let your sisters have fun with you.”

Despite Maria frowning and asserting that she would protect Mammon, Mammon nods. She thanks Maria for interfering, bowing to her tiny master. Maria parts her lips as if to retort but instead, she chooses to smile. She pats Mammon's cheek, and instantly, her wounds are gone, healed by magic. Mammon thanks Beatrice for her mercy, and Beatrice scoffs, glancing away at the chessboard in front of her as she sits down. Mammon notices the misty fog staining Beatrice's vision, but she decides against remarking.

Maria and Mammon leave together for the Golden Land where the other sisters were waiting for them underneath the arbor. Despite her sisters' incessant meddling, Mammon refuses to tell them what transpired between herself and Beatrice. When Maria starts complaining that they should be playing with her, the sisters drop the subject and join Maria in a game of hide and seek.

Still, deep within her core, what lies beyond her loyalty is greed. Even if her master spat merciless truths at her, Mammon holds fast onto her love for Ange. Beatrice may be able to revive and kill at her faintest whim, but her master cannot mutilate Mammon's adoration for Ange.

Mammon smiles to herself as she dives under the table in the arbor to hide from Maria. It will be a thoroughly entertaining game this time around, and she cannot wait to sink her teeth into it all for the sake of seeing Ange, a former witch of the alliance who disregards love and magic and her beloved, battle for her dream. Although she adores Beatrice, the faint spark of hope in her heart prays for Ange's victory.


End file.
